Interrupted Loneliness
by Tiny Q
Summary: A "prologue" for Somewhere I Belong, but it stands alone nicely. Draco's trying to ignore the world and enjoy his brunch but a certain Ravenclaw has other plans.


Title: Interrupted Loneliness

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** Well, this was a little throwaway scene for my latest story _Somewhere I Belong_ , that I just couldn't help but share. The idea popped into my head after reading a Tumbler post on Pinterest about Luna and Draco becoming friends after the war, and this, and large portions of the aforementioned story kind of came with it. You don't need to read this to understand the main story, and you don't need to read the main story before or after this to understand this one. It's a standalone unless you want to make it more. :D Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy it.

Oh, the "soundtrack" for this story is "Get Up" by Wiretree, if you're interested.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and even this idea isn't terribly original. One day I hope to own things… it would be nice.

 **Interrupted Loneliness**

—o—

Draco hated being out in public. The stares, the looks of disgust, and the muttering all made his skin crawl. But he forced himself to do it. In all honesty, this was his punishment; this was what he deserved after everything that he had done in his youth. In a way he needed this, this constant reminder of why he would never be good enough to reenter society. It reminded him of what his place truly was now.

And really, it wasn't all terrible. He had about a year left of school and then he would be a fully qualified Healer. He wasn't sure what was going to happen then. Maybe he would be able to find a job at one of the smaller clinics, but even that was iffy.

To be honest he wasn't even sure why he had decided to pursue medicine, but his Newts had been top of heap (probably because the exams had been anonymously marked—otherwise, he was fairly certain he would have been docked marks simply for having the audacity of being a Malfoy), and it had seemed like the logical choice at the time. Through medicine he could try and do some good. Help people instead of harm them.

Though with the way people were still treating he was beginning to think that he had made a tactical error. No one was going to hire him, let alone let him treat them. He had a feeling the only reason that he had even gotten accepted into the program was because Harry Bloody Potter had pulled some strings for him. Just one more thing he owed the git—but he tried his best not to think of that. Ever.

The urge to run at his hand over left forearm tried to overwhelm him, but he studiously ignored it. He didn't want to be reminded of how far down he had actually fallen. And most of all he didn't want people seeing him do something Death Eaters were known to do. They didn't need more physical evidence of what he had done. So he left it to itch and tingle, focusing instead on his copy of _The Daily Prophet._

A usual the articles heralded the times, the sweeping changes, the advancements of the Wizarding World and their society therein. The final defeat of the Dark Lord had made them change and adapt, supposedly for the better. Policies had been put into place to safeguard their hard work so that wizards and witches across England could never again be subjected to such terror. It was a slow process, with lots of work yet to be done. But it was a start—or so the articles kept saying.

He wasn't sure they were on the right track, however. While the policies were, for the most part, inclusive, individuals within society were doing everything they could to keep those who they perceived as a threat to this New World at arm's length. No former Death Eater, or Slytherin for that matter, was allowed to fit into society. They had become a second class of sorts, which was ironic considering how high up the social ladder most of them had been before the war. Pure blood, for all intents and purposes, was becoming a bane instead of a boon, and far be it for anyone to consider such things important anymore.

It was idiocy to the highest degree. And while many had been pointing this out—including the newly elected Minster, Arthur Weasley (yes, the world really had changed)—the electorate simply wouldn't listen. And Draco didn't see it changing anytime soon either, which was unfortunate. The idiots were only digging themselves a new grave. It was only a matter of time before the newly disenfranchised began fighting to reclaim what had originally been theirs.

But, this was the New World, and wasn't it glorious?

"Oh, I'll just take a seat with him, if that's alright," he heard a misty voice say, but he automatically dismissed it.

Someone pulled out the chair opposite of his, and Draco looked up in surprise. His eyes widened further when he saw just who was sliding into the seat.

"Lovegood?" he sputtered, unconsciously lowering the paper he had been holding up. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Joining you for breakfast," she replied, smiling graciously as the waitress put a setting in front of her, and mistily ordered a peppermint tea. She then removed her peacoat and began to idly unwind her scarf.

"I didn't invite you to join me," he told her, narrowing his eyes. His hands were gripping the paper so hard that he could hear it crinkling.

"Oh, I know that," she said, looking at him with her excessively large blue eyes. "People rarely do. But you looked like you needed someone to talk to."

"I was reading the paper," he sneered.

"You were hiding."

"I—" he stopped and stared at her.

It wasn't like he had never seen her before, but it was the very first time he actually felt like he was paying attention to her. Before the unfortunate circumstances of her incarceration he had just brushed her aside as being Loony Lovegood. Afterwards he hadn't been able to look at her for fear of what he might see in her eyes. Now, however, he saw her calmly watching him, as though waiting for him to realize that this was a normal state of affairs, if he would only open his mind and accept it.

"I'm not interested in company right now," he told her, purposely looking back down on his paper, trying to ignore how wrinkled it was now.

"You're just worried that I'm going to judge you as we'll," she told him. "That I'm like everyone else here."

Draco's eyes widened, but he refused to look up at her. His heart began to pound in his chest but he wasn't quite sure why.

"And you're not?" he said flatly, schooling his features but still refusing to look up at her. He kept his eyes focused on the paper, though none of the words got processed by his brain. He suddenly found himself entirely focused on the blonde across from him.

"Of course I'm not," she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "But you knew that already."

He did, damnit, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"Doesn't it repulse you to be sitting at the same table as the guy whose house you were locked up in for four months?" he asked, hating the bitterness that seeped through his usually ironclad control.

"Draco, did you put me in that dungeon?"

Draco's head snapped up and he looked at her in shock. But if he had been expecting an expression of disdain or hurt or anger he was disappointed, for all he saw was idle amusement.

"No," he replied slowly. "But I didn't try to get you out of it either."

"And what would have happened if you had tried and got caught?" she asked serenely, as though speaking about the weather.

"Me or one of my parents would have been killed," he said slowly, hating the reality that he had been boxed in to so many years ago.

"Exactly," she replied, as though that settled matters. "There was nothing you could have done, so why worry about it? Everything worked out for the better in the end, and that's all that matters." She looked down on her menu. "Now, what are you going to order?"

Draco stared at her. Just stared at her. Was she for real? Was this actually happening? And why was he, in a small and peculiar way, relived that it _was_ happening? She was the first person since he had gotten back to England to just look at him like he was a normal person. Not someone to be hated. Not someone to be feared. Not someone to yell and curse at. Just as another human being.

"Well?" she asked. "I think I want to try the granola bowl. I like star fruit." She pointed at the item on the menu, a happy looking picture of granola and star fruit twinkling on the page.

"I always get the pancakes," he told her, glancing down on his paper and wondering what he should do.

"I can see you being a pancake man," she said, nodding sagely.

"You can?"

"Well, waffles wouldn't do," she told him. "And I feel you would have eggs and toast on a regular morning, so they're right out. And the rest seem too frivolous for you. So pancakes it is."

"Are you always this perceptive?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Yes," she replied. "Though people are generally rather unpleasant about it. I don't mind though; they just don't understand." She turned to smile at the waitress who had arrived to take their order.

"You're too nice for your own good, Lovegood," he told her, sighing and folding up his paper. It was obvious the blonde wasn't going to leave any time soon. Instead he wrapped his hands around his coffee mug, which was sadly empty. The waitress had yet come to refill it.

"No," she replied, shaking her head and smiling slightly. "The world is just too self-involved."

"And you're not?"

"I didn't say that," she replied. "But I just see what other people neglect to see."

"And what it that?" he asked, curious despite himself.

"How the world really is," she said with an indifferent shrug. "Not just the fantasies and stories we tell ourselves to make everything alright. It's amazing the things people will believe or ignore just to feel okay about themselves."

Draco stared at her. Did he tell himself such lies? But even as he asked, he knew he did. Otherwise he wouldn't be sitting at this table, let alone living in England once more. He was a former Death Eater and a Blood Traitor; he didn't fit in anywhere, and yet he was convinced that one day he would find himself somewhere he belonged. It was pathetic really, but it was the only thing that got him out of bed most days.

He narrowed his eyes at the woman across from him. Could she see that as well?

"But let's not talk about such things right now," Lovegood said, waving her hand through the air. "It's a beautiful Sunday morning, and we are about to have a delicious brunch." She nodded her head towards the waitress who was approaching them with plates of food floating behind her.

As the waitress placed their plates in front of them, she smiled brightly at Lovegood, barely glancing in Draco's direction. He mentally sighed, but kept his expression neutral. He had learnt a long time ago that it wasn't worth fighting, let alone getting upset over.

"My friend would like some more coffee, please," Lovegood told the waitress, and his eyes snapped towards her in surprise.

"Oh, of course," the waitress said, and returned a moment later with a pot of coffee which she dutifully used to fill his mug.

"I'm your friend, am I?" he blurted as soon as the other woman had walked away.

Lovegood just looked at him and smiled slightly.

"I think you could be if you wanted," she said. "I don't see any reason why we couldn't be."

Draco opened his mouth to tell her how many reasons there could be, but they died in his throat. No one had wanted to be his friend since he had gotten back. In fact, other than his mother, no one wanted anything to do with him. Yet here Loony Lovegood sat, saying that she not only thought that they could be friends, but that they should be.

And really, she _had_ made sure that he had coffee, which was basically all he ever wanted from life these days. Coffee never glared at him or spoke about him behind his back. Coffee just was, and it accepted him as he was: flaws and all. It soothed him and kept him level. It was everything he could ever hope to find in a companion, minus the fact that it was a beverage and not an individual.

Looking across the table at the rather dotty blonde, he couldn't help but feel the same attitude from her. And it was strange, but not entirely upsetting.

"I suppose if you wanted to join me for brunch again another time I wouldn't send you away," he told her, then busied himself with his putting maple syrup onto his pancakes.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Luna smile slightly, and he wondered what he had just gotten himself into. His old school mates—not to mention ancestors—were probably all rolling in their graves, or cells, or whatever they had gotten themselves into over the years. Yet somehow the thought didn't bother him as much as it should. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that. All he knew, was that for the first time in a very long time, he had forgotten to pay attention to looks other people were giving him, and felt, if only slightly, normal. And that alone was worth pursuing, wasn't it? Even if that avenue meant having Lovegood impose on his Sunday brunches.

Draco watched her daintily spear a piece of star fruit with her fork. She smiled at it like it was an old friend, then popped it into her mouth, a look of contentment coming over her features as she chewed.

He supposed he could do worse, much worse. And really, it was a New World after all. Anything was possible, wasn't it?

Fin.

—o—

 **A/N:** Well, if you missed the note at the top, this is a prologue of sorts for my latest story _Somewhere I Belong_. It's D/G (are you really surprised?), but what Draco and Luna began building here is in full bloom in the story. Anyhoo, I hope you liked this little thing. :D


End file.
